


Sympathy From The Devil

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety Attacks, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Demon Jaskier | Dandelion, Demon Summoning, Demons, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Kaer Morhen, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tired Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Prompt: You’d think that demons would have a lot more sympathy for the virgin sacrifices and a lot less sympathy for the guy holding both of them captive against their will.Featuring Demon!Jaskier andVirginSacrifice!GeraltFluff and Flirting ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 54
Kudos: 946





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know I love me some non-human Jaskier. 
> 
> Jaskier is a demon in the same way the Crowley from Good Omens is one. 
> 
> Barely edited. Enjoy <3

Geralt should know better than to stay in superstitious towns for too long. 

He’s in one for a few days, recovering from a particularly nasty contract they had posted, and while the welcome he received was far politer than most places he travels, he can’t help but think that he should’ve known something was up. 

It’s not his fault he didn’t know the Spring Equinox was important to them.

So that’s how he found himself here, hands bound, tied to the base of some sort of makeshift altar. Whatever these townspeople did to him, they did their research beforehand, because despite him being fully dressed in his armor, swords on his back, he was not getting out of this situation in the foreseeable future. He watches as the group of... townspeople? Cult followers? he isn’t quite sure what to call them, gather in a circle, chanting in Ancient Elder. He recognizes some of those words, and that startling realization has him sitting up straighter in his bonds. Whatever these people are summoning and planning on sacrificing him too, it isn’t good. 

The creature appears in a puff of smoke, causing the people to take a step back, either in fear or in awe. The shimmering blue-gray smoke dissipates and left in its wake is nothing other than a demon. From what Geralt can tell, it’s a rather low-level demon, so it’s most likely not going to murder anyone here for the hell of it, and if he’s reading the situation correctly, this is not the first time this has happened. Geralt briefly wonders how many people before him have been sacrificed to this creature, and quite honestly, what the hell the creature does with them. 

Something like formalities are read, listing the demon’s status and power, and the demon seems pleased with all the attention it’s getting. The townspeople’s excitement grows as they step aside, and the leader of their little group waves to where Geralt sits with a dramatic gesture of his hand. As Geralt is in the middle of deciding whether or not he should try to intimidate the demon - he doesn’t have much experience with them - the creature’s entire bravado falters, taking a steep left, careening off the side of a mountain and drowning in the ocean waves below. Any joy and pride that had been building inside of the Demon visibly plummets, and the creature is at his side in seconds, an indecipherable look scribbled across its features. 

The demon speaks low and soft, jerking Geralt from his mind as he’s trying to decipher whether the Demon is concerned or annoyed. “Are these people bothering you, my dear Witcher?” 

Geralt, partially caught off guard by the term of endearment, just looks down at his bound body, and back up at the demon again, staring into this cornflower eyes as if to say: _What does it fucking look like, genius?_

The demon gives one quick nod, then straightens to its full height. The shadows around them grow larger, swallowing up portions of the room from their darkening corners. Geralt can’t exactly see what’s happening, the demon has its back to him as if acting like a barrier between the Witcher and the people. Its tail swishes back and forth viciously and the tips of its midnight blue horns turn red as if blood was running down from the top. 

“I am immensely dissatisfied with this offering.” The demon’s growl reverberates around them, echoing in his head. It’s nothing like the soft and gentle voice he was graced with earlier. This voice is deep, deeper than Geralt’s, as if drug up from the pits of hell to scold these people in particular. It’s not particularly angry, just harsh and disappointed like a long time friend has broken their trust. “I have made myself clear in the past, no humans are to be made as offerings.” 

“But, a Witcher, Master Jaskier.” The leader’s voice trembles out. 

The snarl the man receives in return is one of the most threatening sounds Gerald has ever heard. 

“Did I not make myself clear?” The demon asks again. “Perhaps I should rephrase it, so you can understand.” Its words are sickly saccharine, dripping with deadly poison. “No living creature of any kind - no human, no elf, no dwarf, no Witcher - should be offered as a sacrifice.” It pins its gaze on every person in the room, lingering on the group’s leader. “Understand?” The people nod in fear, but the demon’s words have seemed to take root. “Now,” it snarls, leaving no room for argument. “Return by this time tomorrow with an acceptable sacrifice… or else.”

It’s only after all the townspeople have scurried out of the room that the Demon turns to face him again, power receding. The demon looks over him with blackened eyes before blinking a few times, revealing the cornflower that Geralt had seen before. “Let’s get you out of those chains, why don’t we?” He chirps, smiling. “They didn’t hurt you any, did they?” He asks as he works. 

Geralt hums. “Tired.” He says after a while. He makes no effort to move after the chains fall to the ground, and a frown worms its way onto the demon’s face. 

“They must have drugged you, with something strong too.” He looks how he did earlier, concerned and upset. “I’m terribly sorry this happened to you. I thought I had made myself clear but…” He trails off with a bitter shake of his head. “Humans.” 

Geralt grunts in something like agreement. 

“Oh, how rude of me.” The Demon begins dramatically, setting himself comfortably across from where Geralt leans against the alter, drained. “My name is Jaskier. At your service.” 

“Geralt.” The Witcher replies. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jaskier says. “Though I apologize for it being under such unpleasant circumstances. Now,” the demon continues, and Geralt wonders if he’s the demon of never shutting up. “Are you hungry? I don’t know how long they’ve kept you in such poor condition.”

“I’ve had worse.” Geralt says instead. 

The demon huffs, a plate of warm food appearing with a wave of his hand. “That means you’re hungry. Here, eat.” 

Geralt stares down at it suspiciously, sniffing at it for any hints of danger. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Jaskier promises, though it sounds slightly indignant, like he’s offended at the thought Geralt would think it was. 

The Witcher shrugs. “Can never be too careful.” He takes a bite and then realizes how hungry he actually was, shoveling a second spoonful in his mouth. “Thank you,” He manages when he’s finished. 

The demon preens at the praise, looking absolutely delighted that Geralt enjoyed it. “Now,” Jaskier demands once more. “Sleep.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him skeptically. 

“Whatever they did to you has you exhausted. So, sleep. Sleep it off. You’ll feel more energized when you wake up.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you going to do if I sleep?” 

The Demon levels him with a look that alludes to the fact that he thinks the Witcher is asking a stupid question. “I’m going to stay here. Someone needs to make sure the townspeople don’t come back while you’re unconscious. I just told them to return with an offering before this time tomorrow; who knows when they’ll actually come back? Or what those dumb humans will do if they stumble across you alone.” 

Geralt can’t help to agree that the Demon’s plan makes sense. Jaskier has been nothing but nice to him up to this point, so while he doesn’t exactly trust him, Geralt doesn’t have any reason to think himself in danger. He begrudgingly removes his swords from his back, though he keeps them nearby, and lays down. 

Music filters through the air out of nowhere and Geralt looks over to see the Demon leaning against the wall nearby, strumming the lute that has appeared in his hands. It doesn’t bother him like he thought it would, even when Jaskier begins to sing, honeyed voice escaping the depths of his throat and ringing out to join the twinkling notes of the lute. Suddenly, Geralt finds it hard for him to keep his eyes open, and they flutter shut despite how he is drawn to watch the Demon play. 

“It’s okay, my dear Witcher,” the demon croons softly, striking Geralt’s heart once more with the term of endearment, “I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He reassures, the melodic tone of his voice lulling him to sleep. One last promise wriggles its way into the Witcher’s mind before he drifts off entirely. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to do a second part because I have more I want to write but I'm way too tired to write it tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though the drug is out of his system, he has a nice breakfast and he's thinking clearly, Geralt decides to let the Demon join him on his travels. What's the worst that could happen?
> 
> Barely edited. Enjoy <3

Geralt awakes to sunlight streaming in through the window, boots thumping against the floor, and the soft murmurs of exchanged words. 

He lets himself rise out of sleep slowly, the atmosphere is gentle and he doesn’t feel the telltale inkling of being under attack. He catches snippets of exchanged words, phrases like “Master Jaskier” and “The Witcher, sir” which force his eyes open to assess where he was. The memories come back to him from behind some sort of fog that was hazing his brain, but he keeps his movements slow, not to alarm anyone. 

“The Witcher is quite firmly under my care now,” he hears Jaskier declare, “and we appreciate your offerings.” 

He’s sitting up now, and Jaskier stands in front of him, talking with some of the same townspeople from the previous day. They seem to notice that he was awake now, and are suddenly less comfortable to linger in the room. The man Jaskier is talking to glances over at Geralt quickly, before looking at the Demon once more, but he quickly bids his leave, and the small group makes a hurried exit. Geralt rolls his eyes with a huff as the door slams shut behind them.

The small noise has Jaskier whirling around. “Oh, Geralt!” He crows, eyes lighting up upon spotting him sitting there. “You’re awake.” His tail curls around his leg and squeezes, before unraveling and resting distractedly against the floor. “Right. Hopefully, you haven’t been awake too long, but I have breakfast.” He steps to the sides dramatically and gestures to the pile of things that had been partially obscured from Geralt’s vision earlier. 

It takes him a second to piece things together, but they fall in place rather easily. “The offerings.” The Witcher states, rather pointlessly. 

“Exactly. And said offerings include breakfast. I mean, look at this.” The Demon uses his tail to drag the platter of food closer, settling down in front of Geralt as he had done the night before. “Honey cakes, fresh fruits… Strawberries, Geralt! Fresh strawberries.” Jaskier seems content to ramble, and Geralt doesn’t interrupt. Despite the Demon’s overenthusiastic approach, he is right, fresh strawberries are hard to come by, especially this time of year, and Geralt has nothing against a free meal or two. 

He lets Jaskier's voice fill the air as he eats his fill and takes the time to survey the rest of his surroundings. He can’t help but notice that a large majority of the pile of offerings is gold and silver coins. There is some jewelry too, some fancy weaponry, and brightly colored clothes, but it's all buried between the coins. While the pile itself isn’t particularly large, there’s easily a couple thousand coin just lying there, and Geralt is just trying to figure if he’s ever seen that much at once. 

“They sure keep you happy.” He can’t help but remark, cutting off the Demon’s mindless babble. 

Jaskier almost seems surprised at the comment and turns to look back at the offering pile like he’s forgotten about it. “Ah, yes. That they do.” He shrugs, like he isn’t particularly bothered, and goes back to eating the honey cake in his hand. “You can have it if you’d like.” He says a bite or two later. 

Geralt stares at him like he’s slightly insane. “What? That’s…” He tries to think of a way to phrase it without seeming ungrateful for the offer. “A lot fo coin for you to give up so easily. It’s your offering.” 

Jaskier waves his hand dismissively. “What use have I for coin?” He asks, but rises to his feet and walks over to the pile, digging through it. He finds a particularly fashionable and shiny bracelet that he slips over his wrist, an engraved silver dagger that he flips a few times in his grasp before sliding it into his belt and picks over the silk clothing, but he isn’t interested in much else. He spots the crown as he rises to his feet, and snags it with his tail as he steps away from the pile, motioning to it with his braceleted hand. “The rest is yours.” 

“Why are you giving it to me so freely?” Geralt asks finally, rising to see what he is being offered. He can’t help but be tempted by the vast quantity of coin, but now that he’s rested and free from the drugs they had pumped into his system, his instincts are kicking in again. “Do you want to make a deal? Are you trying to get me indebted to you?” 

Jaskier huffs out a harsh laugh, crown now settled neatly among the chestnut curls adorning his head, straddling the midnight blue horns that protrude from his skull. “Do I want you indebted to me?” He scoffs. “You’re already indebted to me, my dear Witcher.” The room grows dark for a second, as if the sun had gone behind the clouds, and something dark flickers in those cornflower eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that Geralt wonders whether he imagined it. “Lucky for you,” his words are peppy and sweet again, atmosphere light and friendly. “I don’t like doing things like that. So, we’ll call it even.” 

“Where are the rest of my belongings?” 

“So eager to leave already?” The demon croons, something like hurt lining the tone of his voice. 

“I would like to make sure my horse is okay.” Geralt answers instead. 

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier nods as if he understands. “Taking care of your traveling companions are important. Well then, let's get this cleaned up and we can be on our way.” Geralt opens his mouth to point out the particular phrasing of “on _our_ way” but is so caught off guard by the Demon’s display of magic that his mouth clicks shut. With a wave of his hand, everything from the pile of offerings has disappeared from the floor and a small coin sack appears in the Demon’s hand. “This has everything in it,” Jaskier reassures, “But just in a more manageable packaging." He grins at Geralt’s impressed look. When he tries to hand it to the Witcher, however, Geralt brushes straight past him, towards the door, leaving Jaskier scrambling behind him, tail dragging the lute from its place against the wall so it doesn’t get left behind. 

“Which way to the stables?” Geralt asks, coming to a stop outside the door, trying to figure out where he is. Coin bag still in hand, Jaskier leads the way to where the Witcher had left Roach, and Geralt is relieved to see she is well taken care of. He drops by the inn where he was staying, picks up the rest of his pack, and starts to head for the road when he notices Jaskier is still following him. 

“What do you want?” He asks, not stopping his departure from the town, desperate to get away from it as quickly as possible. 

“You haven’t taken the coin yet.” The Demon points out. 

“Don’t want it.” 

“You... You don’t want it.” Jaskier is so caught off guard that he stops in his tracks to process. The crown on his head slides to the side a bit at his abrupt stop. 

Geralt pulls Roach to a halt as well, looking back to face the Demon. “What do you really want? Why haven’t you taken your offering and left yet, like all the other Demon’s do?”

“I didn’t ask to be worshiped here.” The Demons shrieks in response, cornflower eyes burning a darkening blue, tail curling and uncurling. “I didn’t ask to be tied to one place, to be called on for protection by insolent fools who don’t understand that’s not what you call Demons for.”

Silence lingers in the air as Geralt takes the moment to process. “You don’t like it here.” 

Jaskier deflates. “No.” 

“Hmmm,” Geralt weighs his options. Jaskier’s company wasn’t horrible, and the coin would be nice, but he doesn’t feel right taking it if it’s not earned. “Keep the coin.” The Demon takes a breath to say something’s but Geralt continues talking, cutting him off. “You can use it when we stop in towns as we travel.” Geralt kicks Roach back into action as Jaskier springs into motion behind him. 

“Really?” He exclaims, excitement lining his voice. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.” He bounces into step next to Roach, keeping pace. He hangs the bag of coins off his belt and reaches for his lute, strumming a tune and humming something absentmindedly. “It’s been so long since I’ve left that town, but traveling with a Witcher, what a once lifetime experience." 

As the Demon rambles on, Geralt just hopes he doesn’t regret his decision. 

How much trouble could he get into anyway, traveling with a demon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update every couple of days, but I'm balancing school and writing so it's just a matter of when my energy and creativity align. 
> 
> Thanks for all your kind comments. I'm glad so many people enjoy this silly little concept. I honestly didn't mean for it to get this long, but it's such a fun idea, that I can't help it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier decides to become a traveling bard, and we get to see him in full Demon action, protective of his newfound friend.

They don’t even reach the next town before Jaskier decides he needs a reason to be traveling with Geralt.

“You have a reason.” Geralt insists. “I let you.” 

Jaskier huffs, tail flicking back and forth in indignant disagreement. “Ah, yes. Should I just go around telling everyone that I am a Demon, traveling with a Witcher because I got bored? I’m sure that will go over well.” He sends a look towards Geralt that conveys they both know it wouldn’t. “I’ve lived for quite a while, my dear Witcher, and most people don’t take kindly to my type wandering around.” He scoffs, “It’s like they think I’ll steal their children or eat their cattle.” He gestures dramatically as if to emphasize how stupid of an idea that was. 

“They think that of Witcher’s too.” Geralt points out. 

“Oh, well then, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” 

Geralt stares down at him skeptically. “Steal their children and eat their cattle?”

“No, you ridiculous man, be your Barker.” 

Geralt doesn’t exactly know how Jaskier made that leap in logic, but he’s got a feeling that it’s a rather common thing for the Demon, and isn’t going to question it. 

“I can utilize glamour, you see, and what better reason to travel with a Witcher than to gather tales of his adventures and sing about them. I play the lute well enough already.”

“So, you’re a bard.” 

“A bard.” The demon crows, strumming a few chords dramatically. “Jaskier the bard. Oh, I like it already.” 

—————  
Their first adventure is quite a success, in Jaskier’s opinion. He invites himself along when Geralt finds his next contract in Posada, heading off to find the supposed Devil that is plaguing the nearby mountains. Jaskier can’t help but snicker at the irony. They are subsequently captured and freed by the Elves that live there, and Jaskier turns it into his very first ballad as a bard. 

It’s a smashing success. 

Unfortunately, some towns like ‘Toss a Coin’ almost as much as Geralt does. 

That is to say, not at all. 

It’s about 6 months into their travel when Jaskier first stumbles across a crowd that doesn’t request ‘Toss a Coin’ as soon as they see him. His reputation proceeds him on most occasions, but this town doesn’t do much but offer them a contract and request the demon to play bawdy drinking songs. He doesn’t notice the hostility at first, the alderman had offered them a fair price for what sounds like a small Drowner nest and easily agreed to let them have a room and free dinner as long as Jaskier performed. But as the night grows closer and the people grow drunker, their true colors start to peak through. 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard this yet,” Jaskier begins, halfway through his set. “I’m a rather up and coming bard, you see, so I’ve only written a handful of songs, but this is one of my most requested.” He gets through the first verse of the song before someone throws their tankard of ale at him. He spots it flying towards him and has enough time to dodge out of the way, the tankard clattering to the floor rather harmlessly, and thankfully empty. 

“We don’t want to hear about any mutant!” The man yells, obviously drunk. 

Jaskier stiffens slightly, fingers tensing and plucking one of the strings discordantly. He takes a second to read the room and finds that most other patrons agree, even if they aren’t as vocal in their opinions. The Demon puts on his most charming smile instead, it’s not the first time they’ve run into people who don’t like Geralt, and decides to not press the subject. “Well, then. If that’s the case, perhaps you’d like to hear something else I’ve written.”

“Fishmonger’s Daughter!” Someone shouts from the back. 

Jaskier sighs. It looks like he’ll be taking requests for the rest of the night. 

He’s almost glad when less than an hour later, Geralt steps into the tavern, covered in Drowner guts, and looking for the Alderman. The Demon quickly finished the song he was in the middle of and makes a hurried excuse, desperate to attach himself to the Witcher’s side. Something about the general distaste of the crowd sets him on edge. 

“How was the hunt?” He pries, eying the guts in Geralt’s hair with particular disgust. 

“Long.” Geralt grunts. “Unprepared.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It was a significantly larger nest than I was told.” 

Something shifts uncomfortably in the Demon’s gut. He can’t help but let his cornflower gaze flicker back across the room, afraid of what he’ll find. He’s right, of course, people are either cowering away from where they stand, sending Geralt death stares or are too drunk to notice. He frowns slightly, but turns his attention back to Geralt, just hoping he doesn’t notice. If he knows anything about the Witcher, however, he’s hyperaware.

“Well, we’ll just have to get you a bath when we get back to the inn, and maybe an extra-large helping of food. Perhaps I’ll even ask the alderman to give us little more coin, you know, for compensation?”

Geralt huffs but doesn’t say anything.

“Witcher.” The alderman says, disrupting their conversation. “Please come with me, we’ll discuss your price.”

“Discuss?” Jaskier mouths to himself, trying to catch Geralt’s eye, but the Witcher just follows the alderman to a room in the back, almost as if he was expecting it. Jaskier is hot on his heels, confused and concerned to see where this conversation might go. He doesn’t normally join Geralt when he goes to collect his coin, Jaskier is usually performing, and he might still have been tonight if the crowd was more receptive. But now, he’s starting to regret his previous decisions. 

“100 coin.” Jaskier hears the alderman say, entering the room quietly to settle himself at Geralt’s side. 

“100?” The Demon splutters out before he can stop himself. “You promised 300.” 

“I have no business with you.” The alderman says, turning to focus his unimpressed gaze on the bard in front of him. Jaskier supposes he must not look all that impressive, with his glamor on, but this man does not know what exactly he’s messing with. 

Geralt, however, does. 

“Jaskier,” He says calmly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine.” The resigned look floating in his golden eyes breaks the demon's heart. “100 is fine.” 

The alderman gives a little nod like it was obvious the whole time the Witcher only deserved 100 and pulls out a bag that shows he had no intention of giving him any more than that. Suddenly, the broken pieces of Jaskier’s heart turn into kindling for the fire rising inside him, and all hell breaks loose. 

It’s the smell that alerts Geralt before anything else. Sulfur is a pungent scent, after all. 

The Witcher, poor thing, does try to stop him, but it’s too late at this point. 

The room darkens, and sunlight streaming in through the window is suddenly halted at the window’s frame, the shadows of the room swallowing any that try to escape inside. Jaskier is over the man’s desk, dragging him from his seat in second, hands fisted in the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to his face. 

The alderman is so stunned, that it takes him a second to process what exactly has happened, but as soon as he does, he opens his mouth to say something. One slimy syllable escapes the boundaries of his lips before Jaskier loses control entirely, and his glamor drops. 

The demon takes satisfaction in transforming right before his very eyes. 

Horns appear on his head where they weren’t seconds before, a startling midnight blue that starts to drip a rusted red, blood running down from the tips, weaving through locks of chestnut hair and splashing onto the alderman’s skin. His tail, that had been whipping wildly in agitation under the confines of his glamour, now darts up and wraps around the arm that holds the pitiful bag of coins. Eyes, once a soft cornflower blue, slowly come alive, blazing like an open flame, stinging the alderman’s eyes. Teeth sharpen into fangs, as do his hands into dagger-like talons. Jaskier blinks, grin widening to show his teeth like a threat, and his eyes shift, now a midnight black, staring into the very pits of his soul. 

**“So,”** He hisses, voice deep but tone playful. **“How about we discuss?”** He isn’t the only one speaking when words ring forth from the depths of his throat. Other voices join him, some light and melodic, others smoky and grating, but all of them equally haunting. **“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”** The disembodied voices chime in, bouncing around the room, off the walls, echoing into the alderman’s head, chittering in his ears. **“To discuss? So here’s my deal.”** He keeps the tone light, and conversational, even though there is no room for argument. **“You give Geralt not only the 300 you promised him but double that because you sent him into a large nest unprepared. Not only that, but you will pay for our room and food for the rest of our time here, as well as a bath. You will not say anything crass against my dear Witcher or any other Witcher ever again. If you do,”** Any pretense of faux, honied politeness is gone, nothing but pure fire dripping from his voice. **“I will hunt you down myself, impale your head on a stick and leave it in the town square.”**

The alderman gulps, hands shaking, but nods. 

Jaskier snatches the small bag of coins out of the Alderman’s hand, squeezing once tightly with his tail, before unraveling it and taking a step back. The man fishes around in a safe towards the back of the room and pulls out a larger sack of coins, handing it over to Jaskier, who wrenches it from his grasp with his tail. **“If this isn’t the right amount, I’ll find you.”** the Demon threatens but turns on heel and heads for the door. Geralt picks up Jaskier’s lute from where it had fallen to the floor and follows shortly behind. Jaskier pauses for a second at the door, willing his glamour back into place, before pushing it open. 

“You should keep your pet under control, Witcher!” The alderman yells after them, seemingly emboldened now that Jaskier looked unthreatening once more. 

Jaskier freezes in the doorway, finger’s twitching, but Geralt responds before the Demon could even open his mouth. 

“My pet?” Geralt’s voice rumbles out. “I have no pet. Jaskier is a friend. He is free to do what he pleases.” And with that, they exit the room, the door slamming shut beside them. 

“A bath for our room upstairs, please,” Jaskier says to one of the ladies behind the counter once they reach the inn. “The alderman agreed to pay it for us, and dinner as well.” He flashes an award-winning smile and the woman agrees, promising to have it delivered as soon as possible. 

As soon as they reach their room and the door swings shut behind them, Jaskier’s carefully crafted facade melts away. He doesn’t have any anger left, that was all expelled at the expense of the alderman, but he’s filled with the overwhelming feeling of distressed disappointment and hatred that he was right. Geralt carefully doesn’t say anything, but peels off his armor and rinses off his hands, before placing a bowl of food in front of the demon. 

“Eat.” He demands simply.

Jaskier stares up at him from where he had collapsed in a chair. “You know I don’t need to-“

He’s cut off as Geralt speaks once more. “Eat.” 

Any response is further prevented as the door swings open and the bath is brought in, buckets of steaming water filling the tub. Jaskier shoves a fork full of food into his mouth. They are left alone again soon enough, and Geralt makes his way over to the tub, stripping away the rest of his clothes. Jaskier makes a move to help him, as he so often does when Geralt comes back from hunts, but one look from the Witcher has him plopping down in the chair once more. It’s unfair that he continues to look so intimidating, even half-dressed. 

Jaskier hates to admit that the food does make him feel better, even if it’s just the pure comfort of the action or restoring some of the energy that he used up earlier. He makes his way over to where Geralt sits in the bath, scrubbing at his skin with a cloth. Geralt stares at him. “I finished eating. Clean plate, promise.” Jaskier reassures placatingly. Then, after a moment, “Want help?” 

“Please.” The plea makes it’s way quietly from the Witcher’s mouth, and Jaskier suddenly feels bad for all the trouble he caused. Geralt is tired from a contract, and Jaskier made everything twice as complicated as it would’ve been because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He digs around for some soap for the Witcher’s hair, lathering up his hands and setting to work. Geralt leans into the touch appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut. 

“What?” Geralt asks after a while, opening his eyes to look up at Jaskier. 

The demon pauses his ministrations, returning the look with one of his own, conveying his confusion at the Witcher's sudden question. 

“What has got you upset?” Geralt clarifies, not moving from his position against the side of the tub. “You smell sad. Did you lie about eating?” 

“What, no!” Jaskier splutters. “It’s just…” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

The Witcher shifts, hair still as soapy as Jaskier’s hands, turning to face the bard inquiringly. “Why are you apologizing?” 

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Jaskier admits, avoiding eye contact. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I caused a scene, lost control of my glamour, threatened the alderman.” Jaskier insists. 

Geralt shrugs. “You got me twice the coin promised, way more than I was expecting. It was…” The Witcher trails off, either shy or just searching for the right word. “Nice to be cared about. To be fought for. Not that I’m condoning you starting fights on my behalf, but, I appreciated it, Jaskier. Thank you.” 

Jaskier glances up to find golden eyes glancing at him earnestly, and a small smile works its way onto his face. “Well then,” He motions for the Witcher to turn back around and continues working on his long strands of tangled hair. “I’ll just have to join you for more discussions with other aldermen when you go to collect your coin.”

Geralt rumbles out something like a laugh. “Yes, I guess you will.”

“Oh, by the way,” Jaskier begins once Geralt is out of the bath and settled comfortably in front of his portion of the food. “I found this among all the coin in the offering.” He pulls something from the magical coin purse he keeps on his belt, pushing it across the table for Geralt to see. 

“ A hair clasp?” The Witcher asks.

It’s simple, functional but stylish, and unlike any other that Geralt owns. 

“Not much I could do with it,” Jaskier shrugs. “Hang it off one of my horns maybe.” 

"Drop your glamour," Geral says suddenly as if Jaskier's words had reminded him of something.

Jaskier blinks at the Witcher, bewildered, but does what is asked. The Witcher hums affirmatively, like whatever notion he had, he was correct. 

"You're hair is caked with dry blood." Geralt points out, and Jaskier is reminded of his fit from earlier, soft chestnut hair now crunchy and russet-colored. He goes make a motion with his hand, to use his magic to wash it away, but Geralt's hand curls gently around his wrist, preventing him from doing so. 

He finds the cloth from earlier, and wets it, bringing it over to where Jaskier sits, as well as the hair soap. Gently, he scrubs at Jaskier's horns, and runs his fingers through curled locks of hair, cleaning it of the blood. Jaskier leans over the small bowl of water on the table, and lets himself be taken care of, eyes fluttering shut. Soon, he is clean, and Geralt wrings out the rag, the water an orangey-red. Jaskier rests his chin on his crossed arms, eyes still shut. 

"Go to bed, Jaskier. You used a lot of fo energy today." Geralt prompts softly, nudging him to his feet. Jaskier simply yawns in response. "Sleep." Geralt prods again, coaxing him over to the bed and it of his blood-stained clothes.

"The hair clasp," Jaskier whines tiredly from where he perches on the side of the bed, eyes half-open.

'You can tie my hair up with it in the morning." Geralt promises, pulling the blankets over top of the demon. 

"Hmmm," Jaskier agrees, eyes shut once more. "In the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets summoned back to the town, but his followers aren't as polite this year as they were before.

It’s not until Jaskier gets summoned that Geralt realizes a year has passed.

It had been a nice day too. 

They’re at least a day’s travel from the closest town, so Jaskier’s glamour is down. He keeps it down whenever they’re alone, it’s not like he has anything to hide from his Witcher anyway, and he enjoys the freedom. Glamour is useful but constricting. The demon is wearing the crown again, the one he got from last year’s offering, balanced precariously around his horns, metal intertwining with flowers he weaved into it. 

_"Such wonderful flowers,” Jaskier had exclaimed, darting off the side of the road, “Such bright color.” He had paused to pick some and pulled that crown out of the magical coin purse he kept and weaved the flowers among the shining jewels. Geralt had huffed but pulled Roach to a stop nonetheless. He had to admit, once Jaskier was done and joined him on the road once more, yellow suited the Demon quite well._

The metal hair clasp shines from where it sits in Geralt’s hair and Jaskier’s bracelet jingles on his wrist as he strums his lute, tail swishing side to side contentedly. The hair tie bounces back between the two of them; Geralt had worn it on a hunt once and came back to find it tangled with his hair, splattered with blood, and refused to wear it again. It had taken Jaskier almost two months to convince Geralt to don it once more, on the Witcher's condition that he wouldn’t wear it when it could get broken. Ever since, Geralt muses, it acts as an unspoken symbol of their friendship. Geralt leaves it with Jaskier to promise he’ll come back, and he wears it in his hair as a token of Jaskier’s companionship. 

It’s mid-afternoon when it happens. 

They’re making a steady pace and Geralt is mostly in his own world, planning their route, keeping an eye out for monsters, but Jaskier’s lute music is a constant that he keeps running in the background. He’s jerked out of the comfortable headspace he had tucked himself into when it stops. A hard thud has Geralt whirling around, sliding out of Roach’s saddle and scanning for danger. He doesn’t find any. Instead, he finds Jaskier who has collapsed to his knees on the ground, lute discarded beside him. 

“Jaskier!” The Demon’s name rips its way from his throat as he throws himself to his side. He holds onto the demon’s shoulders, shaking him, but Jaskier’s cornflower eyes are glazed over. “Jaskier!” He calls again, and the bard blinks, staring at Geralt for a moment, recognition igniting in his eyes before he doubles over in pain. “What is it?” Geralt demands, looking for something to fight, wanting to help, “What’s going on?” 

“I’m being summoned,” Jaskier says finally. “It’s been a year.” He pants out, eyes squeezing shut, resting his head against Geralt’s chest. “Hurts to resist.” He moves to stare up at the Witcher imploringly, tail curling around one of his arms. “Come find me.” 

And with that, Geralt is holding nothing but empty air. 

He curses, fingers clenching around nothing, and stands to his feet. He scoops the lute off the ground with the utmost care, and hurries back to Roach, kicking her into high gear. He knows exactly where he has to go. 

————  
It takes him far longer than he’d like to get there, even with finding the nearest mage and paying almost all his coin to portal him to his destination. The Mage tries to take the hair clasp as payment, but Geralt snarls before she can even touch it. Eyebrows raised, she accepts the coin, and motions a portal into existence. Geralt takes a moment to steel himself, now that he’s confronted with it, he remembers why he hates them so much, but reminds himself it’s important, and steps through. 

He finds himself in the same small town that he did last spring, and already shudders at the memory of it. The false sweetness, the over-politeness, the drugs poured into his ale. He makes a note to get in and out of this town as quickly as possible. He’s lucky that tradition is very sacred, and therefore predictable, because he knows exactly where to go. 

He hears Jaskier’s voice from behind the door and breaks it down without hesitation. The crowd parts when Geralt makes his grand entrance and Geralt finally gets a clear look at his Demon. 

What he’s confronted with, Geralt can’t help but think, is probably something remarkably similar to what the Demon was faced with last year. Jaskier looks miserable. He’s sitting in the middle of a circle of runes on the ground, and while Geralt doesn’t know what it means, he can make a fairly accurate guess. They’re different markings than he had seen scribbled on the ground last year, and Jaskier isn’t moving around, so he quickly puts two and two together. 

“Ah, the Witcher.” A man, that Geralt recognizes as the leader, says “You have comes as promised.” 

“What do you want?” Geralt snarls out, unimpressed. His eyes linger on Jaskier as the man speaks. The Demon looks absolutely horrible. The crown sits crooked on his head, the flowers woven into it wilted, his tail still and curled around him. This trap must not only be preventing him from moving but draining his energy. 

“We have a monster plaguing our town. And since the demon we have summoned has abandoned its role and not protected us, we must call on your help.” The man’s words are rather harsh, obviously barbed, stated in a passive-aggressive manner towards Jaskier. 

“What is it?” 

“A Wyvern.” The man says with so much conviction that Geralt almost believes him. 

Instead, he just nods. “Set him free and I will go.” 

The man shakes his head with a smile. “You will kill the Wyvern and then set the Demon free, as his duty to this town will be completed.” 

Geralt growls and debates cutting this man’s head off where he stands but figures it’s not worth the effort. There are too many other people in this room for him to win in a fight, and with Jaskier in the weakened position he is in, there is too great of a risk for him to get hurt. He, instead, reaches up and pulls the clasp out of his hair, tossing it across the room to Jaskier. The Demon picks it up as it skids across the floor, and catches Geralt’s eye, taking the silent promise for what it is. Jaskier reaches up and fixes the crown on his head, and hangs the clasp off his horn, as always, hopeful at the promise. 

———  
The man was right, it was a Wyvern.

This doesn’t help Geralt, at all, as Wyverns are hard creatures to beat. It would’ve been more satisfying for it to be a different creature, to prove that smarmy man wrong and because it would’ve been an easier fight. Still, he is relentless and returns with the creature’s head as the sun begins to set. 

He brings it back to that little room, because he isn't sure where else to bring it, and is disheartened to find the man waiting there for him, even though it was what he was expecting. 

"Dead." Geralt grunts out, dropping the head on the floor at the man's feet. He takes delight in the way he steps back from it, disgusted. "Now, for your end of the deal." 

The man looks back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier, deliberating something. Whatever it was, it must have not been truly worth it, Geralt could easily take this man down alone, and the man concedes. "That is only fair."

Geralt nods, satisfied, and makes his way towards Jaskier, but the man speaks once more, his words halting him in his tracks. 

"However," the man continues, and Geralt half turns to face him. "The demon is still bound to this town." The Witcher's eyes narrow. "You can not take him from here." 

Geralt huffs, rolling his eyes and scratches at the runes, breaking the trap. He helps Jaskier to his feet, and once it is apparent the Demon has no energy to walk, swings him into his arms. "I'll do whatever I damn well please." He informs the man, and walks away, letting the door slam shut behind him. He carries Jaskier all the way to Roach, and helps him up onto the horse, before immediately riding out of town. He sequesters them away in the woods, far away from the town before he lets his guard down entirely. 

"Are you okay?" is the first thing Geralt asks once he allows himself to relax. 

Jaskier chuckles, full of spirit, but tired. "Doing better now. That trap was..." Jaskier trails off with a sigh. He doesn't look half as confident or regal as he should, and it makes Geralt uncomfortable to see the Demon so out of his element. "It was a good trap." There is silence, and Geralt doesn't know what to do about it. "The man was right, you know," Jaskier says instead, turning to look at the Witcher from the other side of the fire. "Whatever they did when they first summoned me, it bound me to that town. It's why I needed a reason to leave." 

Geralt gets it now, the persistence when they first met, the desperation to tag along. 

"They were upset at me." Jaskier continues, dejected. "When they summoned me just now. They were mad that I didn't stick around, that I didn't protect them, didn't save their livestock from being killed." There is a pause again, and Geralt can feel the shift in tone. He doesn't like where this was going. "Maybe I should just go back."

"No." The word is ripped from his throat, so fierce and genuine that it surprised even himself, but he stands by it all then same. Jaskier stares at him with eyes wide in shock. Certainly, the Demon didn't expect him to agree? "No," He says again, calmer but just as meaningful. "You are a good traveling companion, Jaskier. You do not deserve to be kept in one place, bound where you do not belong." _You belong with me_ , he thinks but does not say. "You would wither away there." _Stay. Please stay. Stay with me._ goes unheard. He eyes the hair clasp dangling from Jaskier's horn, and something inside of him longs for the tiny bit of beauty and life that Jaskier brings. To hold him close and keep him next to his side, forever. To be physically allowed to indulge in what his heart already desires, but that is not the point. Not right now. "We will find a way to unbind you from the town."

Jaskier nods and Geralt reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, but the Demon winces at the touch. Geralt pulls away like he had been burned. There is a reason why Witchers are not allowed to have nice and pretty things. 

"Sorry," Jaskier apologizes before Geralt has the chance to. "It's just..." He avoids eye contact as he admits what he doesn't want to. "Salt."

Geralt eyes the Demon more closely, and notices burns welling up on his skin. He must have missed it earlier, in his haste to get them the hell away from that wretched place. "I didn't notice. Here," He digs around in his bag and pulls out some ointment, handing that bottle to him. "I will catch for us something to eat before it gets too much darker." He starts to stand and to reach for his weapon, but Jaskier freezes, staring up at him with something akin to fear dancing in those electric eyes. He sits back down, and the Demon relaxes. 

"Sorry," He apologizes again, and Geralt just wishes he would stop. "I don't think I'm comfortable being left alone right now. I could snap up something for us?" Jaskier offers instead. 

"Don't waste your energy." Geralt dismisses. "We already have a fire going anyway. I'm sure I can find us some dried jerky in my pack. It'll be enough to get us through until the morning at least."

Jaskier just hums, taking the offered food and setting the bottle of ointment on the ground gently, distractedly munching on the jerky. Dinner is quiet, save for the crackling of the fire, and it must have been the first time since he's started traveling with the Demon that a meal wasn't full of some sort of noise. 

Geralt hates it. 

"It's late." He says instead, and Jaskier blinks over at him. "You should get some sleep."

Jaskier huffs out a laugh. "You're the one who fought a Wyvern." 

Geralt shrugs. "That trap drained you," He pauses. "Come here." 

The Witcher doesn't know whether it's for Jaskier's benefit or his own that he invites the Demon to share a bedroll with him that night, but it's fair to say that both of them appreciated the gesture. Neither wanted to let the other out of their sight for a very long time. 

"We'll find a way to unbind you from that town." Geralt whispers against curly locks of chestnut hair, Jaskier sprawled across his chest, tucked firmly under his arms. The hair clasp moves with the air of his words as it hangs from the Demon's horn, dancing like a wind chime in a soft breeze. Geralt tightens his hold on Jaskier, eyes fluttering shut. 

"I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellows, is wearing your traveling companion’s hair clasp gay?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt tries to find a way to break Jaskier’s contract with the town. 
> 
> Romance and shit, the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I did not intend for it to get that dark, but it's what happened. 
> 
> TW: Geralt has an anxiety attack

They search. 

And they search, and they search and they search. 

Geralt tried contacting witches, sorcerers, and mages, but to no avail. 

It’s mid-summer before Jaskier finally tells him. 

He’s nervous. 

It’s nighttime. They’ve stopped for the day as the sun has dipped past the horizon hours ago, and the only thing lighting the forest is their campfire, and what little moonlight filters in through the trees. It’s calm now. They’ve finished eating dinner and Jaskier is plucking at his lute. 

His heart races. His tail curls and uncurls anxiously. Light reflects off the hair clasp nestled in Geralt’s silver locks. 

Jaskier can’t decide if he wants to tell the Witcher he knows a way to break his contract. One that he was trying to avoid, but would work nonetheless. 

He pushes the words out of his mouth before he gets a chance to convince himself otherwise. 

“I know a way to break my contract with the town.”

The combined look of shock and hurt that spreads across the Witcher’s face is almost enough for him to regret bringing it up. The demon sighs. This isn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep this from the Witcher on purpose. It’s just... complicated. 

“If I start a second contract, the first one will be void.” 

“You want to make another deal?”

Jaskier shrugs half-heartedly and lays his lute on the ground. “Not really. But nothing else is working.” 

Geralt huffs, unhappy with the fact the Demon is right. 

“Though,” Jaskier scoffs, “I can't imagine anyone willingly making a deal with me so...” he trails off, something like defeat clouding his voice “I just shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me.” Geralt says suddenly. 

Jaskier glances over at him, skeptically. “Are you..?”

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me.” The Witcher repeats. 

Jaskier drags a hand over his face, messing up his hair in the process. He blows a strand out of his face that had fallen into his eyes, and it tangles with his horns. “It’s not that simple.” He begins, and Geralt stares over at him expectantly. “Okay, so, you’re proposing I come to Kaer Morhen with you? That’s a very open-ended concept. For how long? A year? 5 years? Eternity? And how long would I have to stay? The whole winter or do I just have to step over the threshold before I can leave again?”

Geralt holds up his hands placatingly, and Jaskier relents. “Come to Kaer Morhen with me, this winter, stay the whole time, and join me on the path again in the spring.” 

Jaskier hums contemplatively. “What’s the rest? This is a deal, Geralt. An exchange. One thing for another. I go to Kaer Morhen with you for... what?” 

There is a pause, where the only thing filling the cool nighttime air is the crackle of the fire. Jaskier studies the Witcher’s face. He is obviously out of his depth here and has very little idea what he is doing. The Demon can’t decide whether it makes him want to scream or laugh. 

“You didn’t think this through very well, did you?” Jaskier comments, and he briefly sees something like embarrassment flicker onto Geralt’s face. 

“I don’t have much experience with Demons.” He admits carefully, as if Jaskier is going to run for the hills as soon as he hears those words. 

“You’re a fool,” Jaskier says in return, but the words are too full of fondness to carry the harsh tone they might normally be used to convey.

“I just want to help you.” Geralt says after a moment, and the sincerity in his voice catches the Demon off guard. “I am designed to destroy.” He continues, and Jaskier wonders how many times this man will break his heart, with words like that, painted with anguish. “I hunt monsters and I kill them. People are scared of me, don’t trust me, don’t see my worth. I am tired of causing pain. I just want to do something good for once.” 

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, voice wavering. He reaches out with his tail and wraps it around the Witcher’s wrist. “You do good.”

The Witcher scoffs and starts to pull away, but Jaskier tightens his hold, forcing him to listen. “You’ve been kind to me ever since we’ve met. Sure, you can be grumpy and snappy and make off remarks about my playing, but you let me come with you, even though I bother you.”

“You don’t bother me.” Geralt defends quickly, jerking his gaze up from the blades of grass in front of him. 

“You let me stay, even when I interrupted your normal routine and even though it was my town that kidnapped you and hurt you and-“

Geralt opens his mouth to say something once more, but Jaskier holds up a hand and his mouth clicks shut again. 

“And you’ve been working yourself to the bone trying to find a way to help me. That is not destructive behavior.”

Geralt looks like he wants to disagree. “I’m going to find a way to break your contract.” He says instead. “I’ll think of terms for a deal.” 

Neither of them says anything for the rest of the night. 

————  
Geralt was hoping to have more time to think over his deal. Wording is finicky, and he was hoping to have a chance to discuss the best way of phrasing things, to not create another unfulfillable contract, like the one the Demon was currently stuck in. 

Destiny, however, did not seem to agree. 

She pushes and prods, and shoves Jaskier right into the line of fire. 

He gets hit by a Kikimora, and amidst his panic, Geralt can’t even remember if a wound like this could kill a demon. But it doesn’t matter because all he can see is blood on the ground, blood staining his hands, blood covering the silk fabric of Jaskier’s clothes. Blood, blood, blood, _blood_. It’s everywhere and for a second, Geralt is drowning in the color red, it’s all he can see and all he can hear and when he breathes it’s thick like spilled blood and _oh gods_ -

The roar of the Kikimora brings him back to the present. 

He slaughters it easily because that’s what he was crafted to do, to kill, and to destroy. He destroys everything he touches. 

He’s staring at the dead body of the Kikimora, watching the blood ooze out into the ground and he gets lost in its flow, the darkness of his eyes reflecting the blackness of his soul and he gets caught in the spiraling of his mind, the dripping from his sword, the dead silence of the air around them, the flow of water nearby, the-

“Geralt?” A voice croaks. He whirls around to face the new threat, only to find Jaskier right where he left him, bleeding out. 

He falters, for just a moment, as his mind meshes two images together, getting them confused. He’s still on the verge of panicking, and the dead Kikimora pops into his head. That, combined with Jaskier laying in front of him and suddenly he’s staring at the Demon’s dead body, blood dripping from his severed head. 

Geralt can’t breathe again. 

He drops to his knees and hunches over the dead body, not caring that blood stains his hands and his clothes. It’s Jaskier’s blood, his mind supplies, on his hands. He got so caught up in killing that he killed his friend. 

_He destroys everything he touches._

Something gleams in the light of the moon, and Geralt’s eyes are drawn to it immediately. It’s the hair clasp. It’s dangling from Jaskier’s horn, kept safe while Geralt hunted, a promise to come back. 

Geralt cradles Jaskier’s head in his hands, ignores the way that his eyes are closed, that his body remains lifeless on the ground. 

“Please,” The Witcher finds himself saying, forced from his chest between his ragged panting. “I’m sorry. I’m-“ He can’t speak anymore, unable to get enough air for words to escape his mouth. His fingers curl tighter in locks of chestnut hair, and he misses the way that eyes open, a mouth full of sharpened teeth beginning to move. 

**“Geralt!”**

It’s like breaking through the surface of a lake. 

**“Geralt, breathe!”**

And suddenly, his ears aren’t buzzing and his vision isn’t clouded with the lies of his mind and his head is clear and-

 **“Breathe.”**

He takes a deep breath. And then another. And another. He feels a hand take hold of one of his shaking ones, and pulling it from the ground. It lands on Jaskier’s chest, and he follows his breathing. 

In, and out. 

In, and out. 

Wait. 

Jaskier’s chest. 

Golden eyes flicker down to see glowing cornflower one’s staring back at him. 

**“Breathe.”** Jaskier commands again, gentler this time, the power fading from his voice. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” Now that the Witcher’s mind has stilled, he can clearly see Jaskier’s head firmly attached to his body. 

“I love you.” He manages to stutter out, though it was not what he meant to say. 

Jaskier rests against the ground, eyes shutting as he lets out a small laugh. “I love you too, you fool.” He returns fondly. “But don’t you think you could’ve chosen a better time?”

Jaskier's head may not be cut off, but he is still injured from earlier, blood oozing from the wound in his side. He's getting paler by the second. Geralt does the only thing he can think of.

"I want to make a deal." 

Jaskier stares up at him, eyes flickering black. His voice layers again, a surge of power running through him, teeth glinting in the light. **"What do you propose?"**

"This wound won't kill you if you come to Kaer Morhen with me." Geralt says. He tries to remember what Jaskier had told him, tries to be as specific as possible, tries to word things carefully. 

He holds out his hand. 

Jaskier takes it. 

Something dark flashes behind his eyes, chaos welling up inside him, and for a second, Jaskier isn't quite looking like himself. He looks like what he hears about Demons. Beings who are mischievous, who make any deal, but for a price. Like a Djinn, who will take your words, and twist it, to make you regret you asked. For a second, black eyes stare at him like he's an idiot, like he has walked right into a trap, like there will be a price to pay regardless of what asked. 

**"Deal."**

There's a flash of chaos, deep red magic escapes from Jaskier, the demon arching his back off the ground. It's still, for a moment, Jaskier still holding his hand, and pink flows from Geralt, down the length of his arm and into Jaskier. It tingles as it goes, and when it's gone, it's like a tiny part of him is missing. 

"It is such a relief to be free of that contract," Jaskier admits, staring up at him with bright cornflower eyes. Geralt smiles. He helps the Demon sit up, and Jaskier cringes in pain. They both look down to see the wound still there, open and surrounded by drying blood. 

"What?" Geralt demands, confused. "Why are you not healed?" 

Jaskier blinks up at him with blurry vision, eyes clouding an awful gray. "What... what was the deal?" Jaskier is light-headed, confusion lining his voice. "I don't..." He trails off, eyes unfocused over his left shoulder. Geralt shakes him, grabbing his face and forcing him to stare into golden eyes. Jaskier just hums. "Kaer Morhen." He says like he's half asleep. Movement causes blood to spill a bit more, and Geralt can't help but wonder how much he's lost already. "Go to-" Jaskier begins, but his eyes roll back into his head, and he goes limp in the Witcher's arm. 

The demon's heart still thumps in his chest, but just barely, so Geralt is gentle as he gathers Jaskier into his arms. The journey to his home is not going to be a fun one. 

————  
This is the second time Jaskier has made him need to use a portal to get somewhere, and Geralt just hopes it's the last. 

Unfortunately, the Keep is warded against things such as portals, so the best he can do is get to the closest town at the base of the mountain that Kaer Morhen rests in. 

Jaskier fades in and out of consciousness but is rather weak for the entire trip. The first time he wakes up after fainting is when Geralt is trying to discuss the price with a sorceress. 

"And why should I portal you that far?" She asks, purple eyes staring at him rather unimpressed. "You hardly have enough coin to make it worth the effort." 

Geralt huffs. Jaskier stirs in his arms. He must have been conscious for a while now because he pulls the bracelet off his wrist and holds it out limply. She takes it, and rolls it over in her hands, raising an eyebrow. 

"Real jewels," Jaskier explains, words soft and slurred. "Worth a fortune." 

She nods, seemingly satisfied, and slides the bracelet onto her arm, flicking a portal into existence. Geralt grimaces, but steps through. Roach follows faithfully along behind him. By the time they're on the other side, Jaskier is asleep again. 

The trek up the mountain is hard, even with Roach, but it is still only Fall, so the route isn't littered with snow and ice. He wonders about simply staying once they reach the Keep, and not leaving until Spring again. It sounds nice, Geralt thinks, to take a break. Especially if - when - Jaskier will need the time to heal. 

Geralt is nervous. 

He lingers just outside the threshold for a moment, before stepping inside. 

Not only is he coming back early, unannounced, but he's bringing a guest - a demon - with him, and he doesn't even know if this will work. 

When he steps forward, and nothing happens, he tries not to be disappointed. Of course it couldn't be that easy. He takes another step, and another, and the next thing he knows, he's standing next to the large fireplace in the middle of the room. He stands there for a few more seconds. Still, nothing. He frowns, and settles Jaskier on the ground, sitting next to him. He presses a kiss to the Demon's forehead, grabs one of his hands, and waits.

It only takes what Geralt thinks is a couple of minutes, but it feels like a lifetime. Slowly, trails of pink chaos dance their way around Jaskier's body and the wound starts to close. It had stopped bleeding yesterday morning, mostly due to the effort Geralt had put into patching him up for the climb to the Keep, but now it looks like nothing had ever happened. The pink slowly melds together once the Demon is healed, and trickles it's way back up Geralt's arm, settling around him. The ache in his chest that had been bothering him for the past couple of days is soothed and then it's gone. He feels whole again.

Jaskier's eyes flutter open and Geralt helps him sit up, the Demon looking around the Keep, movements sluggish and confused. His gaze meets Geralt's and his eyes are no longer clouded with pain. "Where are we?"

"Welcome to Kaer Morhen, my love."

Jaskier flushes at the term of endearment, "Is that what we're doing now? Pet names?"

Geralt shrugs. "I've already told you I love you. You returned the sentiment. I figured it would be okay."

"Ah," Jaskier nods, "I wasn't sure how much of that was a hallucination from blood loss." He admits with a small smile. 

Geralt presses a kiss to the top of the Demon's head, right in between his horns, then pulls him closer, dragging him into his lap. 

"Whoa," Jaskier exclaims, resting his hands against the Witcher's chest to support himself. "Careful. Still light-headed from losing so much blood. I'm going to need to take it easy for the next couple of days. 

"Yes, plenty of bed rest for you."

"But," Jaskier turns to eyes him mischievously. "We could stay here for a bit." 

Geralt nods in agreement, wrapping an arm around the Demon's waist.

And when Vesemir walks in on the two fo them kissing, well, Geralt supposes he has some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, that got long. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! <3


End file.
